


Altogether Beautiful, My Love (there is no flaw in you)

by allonsy_gabriel



Series: Another 51 [40]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Attempt at Humor, Body Image, Can be read alone, Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fuck Gabriel, Love, Lovesick Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Softie Crowley (Good Omens), Supportive Crowley (Good Omens), Sweet, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 04:31:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21265103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsy_gabriel/pseuds/allonsy_gabriel
Summary: If you asked Azariah Fell what he thought of Anthony J. Crowley, he would probably blush and say, “Oh, Crowley? He’s—well. He’s quite a catch, though I must say he does keep me on my toes.”And if you asked Anthony J. Crowley about Azariah Fell, he’d say the same thing, though probably not in the same words. He actually spoke like he was from the 21st century, and not some I Love Lucy rerun.It was true, though. Azariah was quite a catch.(Can Be Read Alone)





	Altogether Beautiful, My Love (there is no flaw in you)

**Author's Note:**

> possible tw for body image related self-esteem issues. everything ends up alright, and crowley is an absolute doll, but if that's the sort of thing that Isn't A Great Time For You, proceed with caution

If you asked Azariah Fell what he thought of Anthony J. Crowley, he would probably blush and say, “Oh, Crowley? He’s—well. He’s quite a catch, though I must say he  _ does  _ keep me on my toes.”

And if you asked Anthony J. Crowley about Azariah Fell, he’d say the same thing, though probably not in the same words.  _ He _ actually spoke like he was from the 21st century, and not some  _ I Love Lucy  _ rerun.

It was true, though. Azariah was  _ quite a catch _ .

And that wasn’t even Crowley being biased. Well. Maybe a touch, but  _ really _ , who could look into those beautiful bright blue eyes and say, “Nope, sorry  _ I’ll pass _ .”

Apparently,  _ someone _ .

Crowley didn’t notice it, not at first. At first, all he was too distracted by the fact that,  _ miracle of miracles, this angel person actually seemed to be interested _ . He’d been too caught up in Azariah’s smile, in the way his curls shone like spun gold, in the way he pushed up his glasses with his middle finger and his thumb, the way his bowtie always seemed to be crooked, even though he was constantly fixing it (actually, the  _ fixing _ might’ve been doing more harm than good).

He paid so much attention to all the marvelous, wonderful little details that made up Azariah that he hadn’t noticed the other thing.

The way he hesitated before ordering a meal. The way he was always tugging on the hem of his shirt or jumper or vest. The way he seemed to flinch when Crowley’s hands went anywhere near his stomach.

Well. Crowley didn’t  _ miss  _ that one, but he did  _ misunderstand  _ it.

It made sense, to him, that Azariah would be old-fashioned when it came to things like that—Azariah was old-fashioned when it came to most things, from clothes to speaking patterns to music taste to the fact that he  _ owned an antique shop _ .

So maybe he just  _ wasn’t ready _ . Wasn’t ready for anything more than hands clasped on the dinner table, kisses on cheeks and noses and foreheads and the backs of hands (a thing that Crowley had  _ never in a million years _ considered to be  _ hot _ in any way, shape, or form, but somehow Azariah had scrambled his brain, and so there he was, finding himself growing hot under the collar every time the other man’s lips brushed against his knuckles).

That was fine.  _ Better  _ than fine.  _ Fine _ implied that Crowley wasn’t  _ over the fucking moon _ to have those things, those little signs of affection, those tokens of  _ romance _ .

(He was being  _ romanced _ . He was  _ doing romancing _ . Not hooking up, not seducing, no— _ romance _ .)

But those weren’t the only things, and Crowley slowly picked up on others.

Azariah  _ hated  _ compliments.  _ Despised  _ them. Crowley would say something, something like, “You look nice today, angel,” or, “Like the waistcoat. Looks good on you,” and Azariah would turn red as a beet, mutter some quiet denial under his breath, bite his lip. It was only compliments about his  _ appearance,  _ however. Crowley could say all the nice things in the world about the bookseller’s cooking, he could shower him with praise for how clever he was, could write sonnets about Azariah’s kindness and compassion, and he would take it all in turn, accept it with a beatific ( _ beautiful _ ) smile and an easy  _ thank you _ , but the moment he said anything about how the other man looked—anything from, “The new shirt looks nice,” to, “The whole of creations could never compare to the awe-inspiring beauty of your eyes,”—he was met with quiet denial and tense silence.

He avoided mirrors like the plague. Crowley had thought it odd, at first, in a passing way. Old (usually creepy) mirrors were a  _ staple _ of antique stores, and it was funny to think that Azariah, who seemed to have every sort of item from every century since the birth of Christ, didn’t have a  _ single _ mirror in his shop.

It was the same with photographs. Azariah didn’t have any sort of social media, which, again, made sense—his computer looked like it had been plucked right out of the eighties, and Crowley was pretty sure he didn’t even have a mobile—and he  _ refused _ to be in any sort of picture. “No, no, there’s no need,” he’d say, “Here, why don’t I take it, dear? That you don’t have to hold your arm like that, it must be  _ dreadfully _ uncomfortable.”

Crowley never argued, never pushed. Never did a thing to make his angel uncomfortable.

But he worried.

“Angel,” Crowley said one night over drinks, the two of them draped over Azariah’s settee in the back of his shop, “You know I—You know I… care. About you. A lot.”

They hadn’t gotten around to saying  _ The L Word _ , not yet, but Crowley could tell it was coming the way he could always tell when it was going to storm.

Azariah looked up from where his head was resting against Crowley’s shoulder. “I’d gathered as much, yes,” he said, a mischievous little grin on his face.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I’m serious, angel. You—you’re very—I—you’re my best friend, and—I—I want you to know that. And I want you to know that I…”

“Crowley,” Azariah said, pulling back just a bit so he could look Crowley fully in the eye, his hand atop Crowley’s own, his thumb running over Crowley’s knuckles. “It’s alright, dearest, you don’t have to—”

“I do, though,” Crowley interrupted. “That’s the thing, angel. I  _ do _ have to, because I don’t think you—I don’t think you  _ know _ —”

“Darling, don’t be ridiculous,  _ of course _ I—”

“You’re  _ gorgeous _ ,” Crowley forced out, the words coming out rushed and emphatic, and once he started, he found he couldn’t stop. “You— _ God _ , angel, I—you’re so damn beautiful. I—It’s absurd, how wonderful you look all the bloody time. ‘S why I call you  _ angel _ , you know. You walked into my shop with that hair and that smile and those eyes and all I could think was  _ holy shit he’s an angel _ .  _ There’s an angel in my store _ .”

“Crowley—”

“You’re  _ perfect _ . Every part of you. You’re so  _ incredible  _ and  _ lovely  _ and— _ fuck _ . It makes me crazy, how amazing you are, and I—”

Crowley stopped, but not because he wanted to (in fact, he desperately wanted to keep going, wanted to rhapsodize for  _ hours _ about how flawless this gift of a person was, about how lucky Crowley was to get to have him, to hold him, to call him  _ his _ —) but because he was quite abruptly silenced by the press of Azariah’s lips against his eyes.

After a long, blissful moment, Azariah pulled back, his hands cupping Crowley’s cheeks, and Crowley was equal parts shocked and horrified to find that the other man’s eyes were filled with tears.

“I—” Azariah started, but the words seem to catch in his throat. He huffed and used one hand to dab at his face with a handkerchief he seemed to have pulled straight from the ether.

“Take your time, angel,” Crowley murmured. “I’ll wait.”

There was a minute of silence, a minute where Azariah continued to wipe away his tears with one hand and hold Crowley close with the other, and then he said, “I used to… I used to have a— _ partner _ , I suppose you could call it, though he wasn’t… It was hardly a  _ partnership _ . And Gabriel—he always said I was…  _ soft _ . Said I ought to cut back on the snacks and the sweets, that I was getting—that no one would want me if I—”

Azariah cut himself off, rubbing furiously at his eyes as new tears began to fall.

Crowley swore he’d never felt rage like he did at that moment.

“He was  _ wrong _ ,” he snapped. “This— _ Gabriel _ or whoever, he’s—fuck, I’ll—I can’t—he’s obviously an  _ idiot _ , angel. There is  _ nothing  _ wrong with the way you look. You—how could anyone— _ fuck _ .”

Azariah sniffled a bit and shrugged. “He wasn’t  _ entirely _ incorrect, dear. I could—I could stand to lose a few pounds—”

“ _ Hush _ ,” Crowley said, his arms wrapping around Azirphale’s waist. “You are  _ perfect _ , just like this, just as you are. You don’t need to change a thing. I—I—” He sucked in a breath, and he could smell Azariah’s lavender shampoo, his chamomile and bergamot body wash. “You don’t have to change,” he repeated quietly. “Not for me, not for  _ anyone _ . Anybody who says otherwise is a moron and needs to have their fucking eyes checked, and also a punch in the mouth—”

“I do think that’s  _ quite _ unnecessary.”

“I don’t.  _ I _ think it’s  _ absolutely _ necessary, actually. What this Gabriel guy’s address? I think I ought to pay him a visit, see how well he can talk with his teeth knocked out—”

“Crowley. Really. I’m going to have to ask you to restrain yourself, if only because I don’t have enough set aside to pay for your bail.”

Crowley laughed at that, a weak, almost bitter thing. “Let me know if you change your mind, angel,” he mumbled.

“Oh, I certainly will,” Azariah replied.

They sat there for a moment, the two of them content to simply  _ be _ , to exist in each other’s arms.

“You really are stunning, angel,” Crowley murmured after a while. “A—a  _ catch _ , really. I’m—I’m lucky to—”

“Shush, darling,” Azariah said, placing a soft kiss to Crowley’s jaw. “I hardly think it’s luck.”

“And what would you call it, then?” Crowley asked, his voice a whisper.

Azariah smiled. “Fate, maybe. Destiny, perhaps. Possibly just a matter of mutual good taste,” he mused, and Crowley snorted. “Or maybe,” Azariah continued, those bright blue eyes shining up at Crowley, “it’s simply ineffable.”

Ineffable, Crowley thought, or maybe just love.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in 45 minutes please send help


End file.
